Inside Bet

As assistant director in an accounting firm, Heather Morris is at the top of her game. Her straight-laced colleagues wouldn’t believe the secrets she hides: her wild teenage past, work-of-art tattoo and nipple ring.

Her orderly life veers off course when she’s approached at a wine tasting by an arrogant pretty boy with a dirty mind and a hardcore dangerous profession. She finds herself tempted to step outside her respectable façade for some well-deserved excitement.

Captain Jon “Tin Tin” Carlisle knows women. Loves women. One glimpse of the nipple ring under Heather’s conservative blazer lights up all his instincts. He’s stumbled upon a rare treasure: an exotic beauty with a sexy laugh and a taste for dares.

After a red-hot hour of roulette, their simmering attraction bursts into an exploration of mutual passion that tests even Jon’s erotic limits. Soon he craves something he’s never desired before. More. But for Heather, more means trusting, and trusting leads to trouble.

Now Jon must decide if the best sex of his life is worth chancing his heart on a woman who shields hers so well.

Warning: Contains hot power play featuring a fighter pilot who comes from old money but knows all about bringing the dirty. Also: a nipple ring, sex on the hood of a hella sweet sportscar, and one teensy, tiny, wickedly naughty fluid exchange.

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“Fingers will blister with each turn of the page of this racy, raunchy, hella good read. The duo behind Porter pens a love story mingled with sex hotter than the Vegas desert on an August afternoon. I’ll bet my next paycheck this will move Fifty Shades of Greyto the children’s section at the bookstore.”
~ RT BookReviews 4½ Star TOP PICK

“Every once in a while you finish a book, smile and say: Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
~USA Today

BONUS CONTENT: Jon…proposes?

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Excerpt

Jon turned her until they faced belly to belly. Those elegant hands settled at the tops of her hips. His thumbs rested on the waistband of her skirt, as if reminding her how little effort would be required to strip it down. The casino’s clear, bright lighting allowed Heather a good look at his eye color. They were a rich honeyed brown, like brandy. Expensive and decadent.

His voice was surprisingly serious when he said, “I want you to pick a safe word.

Heather flinched. She couldn’t help it. The host of images and scenarios and positions evoked by that simple sentence caused her body to jump.

She swallowed thickly. His lips parted in silent reply.

There was no brushing this off, but she felt compelled to make the attempt. Any good woman would. “I need a safe word to play roulette?”

“You need a safe word to play with me.” He was staring at the base of her throat, where her pulse drummed.

“Panda,” she blurted out.

He smiled on a sudden laugh, showing off those dimples. She’d caught him out again—risk followed by reward.

She was in huge trouble.

“Panda,” he repeated. “Got it.” The croupier had cleared away the chips and opened another round of betting. “Now what’s your favorite fruit?”

“Strawberries.”

He counted on his fingers as he spelled the word. “Twelve it is.” But instead of placing one of their ten chips on the table, he stashed them in an inside coat pocket. In their place he withdrew a chip marked $100.

“Where did you get that?”

“The exchange,” he said. “While you used the ladies’ room.”

“That’s not what I meant by one at a time.”

Jon edged between gamblers at the table and made room for Heather beside him. It was a tight fit, her hip pressed flush against his. “Don’t worry. There’s more where this came from. I’m just trying to make it more exciting.”

More exciting? Gambling ten dollars at a time was rich enough for her blood. She could quote to the second decimal the balance of her checking account and various retirement plans. Her most recent promotion to Assistant Director had nixed the last of her student loans. Her net worth wouldn’t be achingly small for long, but that only added to her fiscal discipline.

The idea of laying a cool hundred on a single spin was like Jon and his dimples and his wet dream of a sports car: glorious excess.

He found her ear again, that rumbling whisper. “We’ll make it last as long as we want.” Then he placed the $100 chip on red twelve. “For strawberries.”

“An inside bet?”

“You know roulette?”

“I know gambling,” she said, not bothering to conceal her pride. “Hanover Financial Logistics concentrates on accounting for the casinos. Knowing the lingo is a business requirement.”

Only belatedly did she wonder how dull that might sound to a fighter pilot. Tabulating income and expenses, even for casinos, wasn’t exactly dogfighting over the desert.

He only lifted an animated eyebrow, giving no hint of his true assessment. “Then you might know that the odds on an inside bet are 37-to-1.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I like numbers. My professional specialty, actually.” Then for her ears only he said, “I also like seeing what you’ll do next. So tell me, Ms. Morris, what shall we do if that ball drops on twelve? Make it good. I know you enjoy surprising me.”

Oh, but she did. He was a man who, by all appearances, grabbed life by the balls. She wanted to give his balls a good grab just to remind him that not everything—or everyone—was as it seemed.

“The odds are too long to make that any real fun. How about if it drops on any red?”

“Too easy. You’ll hedge and give me something common.”

Her hip molded against the roulette table. If he looked down, he’d have a clear view of the cleavage he found so fascinating, but his gaze didn’t budge from hers. He was waiting, just as she was, to see how much daring she could drag into the light.

Taking the chance, Heather indulged the first of her many fantasies involving this man. She cupped the base of his skull. He smelled of something like Obsession or Pierre Cardin. Rich. Classic. Masculine. She pressed harder, rubbing a little, enjoying how his cropped hair scoured her skin.

“Not common at all, Captain Carlisle. If the ball drops on red, I’ll show you my tattoo.”